All the Dark Places(6)

Rich is away at a conference, so it’ll be just my sister and me and our parents when they get here from Maynard. I really want to see Kim and Laken. I was able to call them and Elise quickly while my house was being searched, but then the cops asked for my phone, telling me they’d have it back as soon as possible. I guess I could’ve said no, but I don’t want to hinder the investigation. Don’t know what they think they’ll find on it, but they assured me it was routine.

The bell chimes, and Corrine leads a man and an older woman into the living room. The woman is slim, has dark hair, with a light smattering of gray, pulled up in a bun, and light blue eyes that seem to take in everything around her. She’s dressed in dark pants and a white, collared, button-up shirt, a jacket draped over her arm. The younger detective is bundled up in an overcoat and scarf. He carries a briefcase, and she drops a battered leather satchel on the floor next to the armchair. They introduce themselves as Detectives Myers and Fuller, Graybridge PD.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bradley,” Detective Myers says as she settles back in the chair.

I nod. It sounds so inadequate, as though my handbag went missing. But it’s what people say in times like this.

Corrine appears from the kitchen. “Can I get anyone tea, coffee?”

They politely decline, and she heads back to the other room while I set my cup on the end table.

“Mind if I tape our conversation?” Detective Myers asks.

I shake my head, and she places her phone on the coffee table on top of a shiny art book. She has me state my name and the date before she dives into questions, scrawling in a little notebook as if the recording won’t be enough.

“We’ve read the statement you gave to Sergeant Simmons. But we need to ask you to clarify a few things.” Her eyes sweep over papers in a file folder. “How old are you, Mrs. Bradley?”

“Thirty-five.” Why is that relevant?

“And your line of work?”

“I’m a sales associate at Graybridge Books.” My gaze meets hers. “I have a college degree, English.” That always comes out defensively.

“Okay. Your husband was forty? A psychologist in private practice?”

“Yes.” I choke on my tears. The mention of Jay wipes away the numbness that had temporarily set in. I feel a gurgling in my chest as if my pain were a living thing clawing to get out.

“No children?”

That stings and I lower my eyes. “No.”

“How long were you married?”

“Three years.”

“Happy years?”

Detective Myers’s eyes meet mine, and I push a clump of tissues under my nose. “Yes.”

“You and your husband weren’t having problems?”

“No!” I gasp.

“How are your finances?”

I take a deep breath and shake my head. “Fine. Jay made a good living. We weren’t having money trouble, if that’s what you mean.” I feel a flash of anger in my chest. “What are you doing to find my husband’s killer, Detective? Who could’ve done this? Everybody loved Jay!” A sob erupts from deep inside me.

Detective Fuller leans forward, his dark eyes meet mine. “We’re going to do everything we can to find his killer, Mrs. Bradley.”

Detective Myers taps her pencil against her notebook. “We need to get all the details first, no matter how trivial they seem. Would you walk us through yesterday?”

Yesterday? Will I go through that day forever in my mind? Like a precious holiday never to be forgotten, but instead of family and fun, it’s filled with pain and unimaginable sorrow. I don’t want to recount it for these two strangers. It’s mine, and I don’t want to share my last day with Jay. Their request that I “walk through it” for them seems somehow obscene.

“Mrs. Bradley?”

“Okay.” I guess I have no choice if I want Jay to be avenged, and I do. “It was a typical Saturday, except that it was Jay’s birthday. We spent the morning running errands, groceries, post office, that sort of thing.”

“Both of you?”

I nod and sniff. There’s no more “both of us.” “Then we stopped at André’s on the square, and I ran in alone to pick up the cake and the party food.” Detective Myers stops writing a moment, looks up. “I didn’t want Jay to see the cake before the party. One of the guys who works there helped me carry everything to the car.”

“Then what?”

“We went home. Had lunch. Jay went out to his office to work while I cleaned the house, got ready for the party.”

Detective Myers leans back in her chair, trains her eyes on me. “Your husband has an office in town, right?”

“Yes. He and another therapist share space in the Tackler Building.”

“Why does he need a home office in the garage?”

“A lot of people have a home office.”

“Does he treat patients there?”

“Of course not. He just . . .” I take a deep breath. I’m rarely in Jay’s office. It’s his intellectual equivalent of a man cave. “He researches. He writes. But he definitely doesn’t see any patients out there.”

“What’s he writing?”

“A book about psychology. Scholarly stuff. He really doesn’t talk too much about his work.”